117. Summer. Pulvera City, at the last Iron Vanilla store.
“Look! Bianca’s opening up shop now!” Aspera said.
“So this is where the money I gave you went? She’s your only worker, and she looks miserable. You sure you want to run a convenience store that sells hardware, books, flowers, AND food?”
“Look. I doubled her pay from before I bought the place.”
The drop in fuel prices made all this possible. We’ll thank Wiremu for that, with her offshore oil rig and mining operations. From plastics, precious metals, to so much more.
We walked past the glass doors. The scents of baked goods and heavy machinery tussled as an electric fan blended them together.
Bianca side-eyed us from behind the counter – organizing some nifty multi-tools, magazines, newspapers, instant noodles, candies, bouquets, and bottles of water. All bearing Iron Vanilla branding.
“I’d like a copy of Memoirs of Medina, and two of those fresh nutribuns. One with cheese.”
“Right, which one do you want cheese on?” she asked. But why?
Brief silence, as I mumbled ‘..what the fuck?’ under my breath.
I replied. “Either one, man. They’re identical.”
“Anything else?”
“One jar of Emberberries, and a can of cured Kuridono meat.”
She jotted stuff onto a duplicate invoice carbon pad, then fidgeted over an abacus – the same kind Euryas popularized ages ago.
“That’ll be.. 2.87 Kredo. You want today’s papers too?”
“..Yeah, sure.”
“2.92 Kredo total,” she said after finishing the invoice note.
I took a pair of 1 Kredo bills and some coins from my purse. They also offer currency exchange, mostly from Marbordian currencies into Kredo; Pulvera’s legal tender.
She counted. “Exact amount, no change.”
We stepped out and soon drove a few minutes back to the Redoubt, past the layered walls and towards the radial structure which had sprawled like living concrete adorned with smokestacks. The central tower broke the gloomy afternoon sky, whose rain clouds hid Bestatzo’s Band. We snacked on the nutri-buns after I parked. Industrial smog veiled the halls.
“See you later, kid. Go have dinner early upstairs. I’m heading down in a bit. Busy week.”
With a new cane and scarf, I was disguised as Isolus and took the lift down under. Book and newspapers in my satchel. Aspera instead walked the stairs up to our room-office.
Ostracia and several Warden junior officers passed me. An exchange of salutes, and some asked to shake my hand.
“Our reports are complete, chief.”
She waved to three other Lieutenant-engineers, who nodded. Then she rested her palm on my shoulder and met my eyes with hers.
“Good luck down there. With the pests, I mean.”
She should be wishing them luck instead. They’ll need it.
They got off at Basement level 3. We’ve since expanded each underground level, as well as having dug deeper to establish more. What once was a coal mine, is now a giant set of offices over a vast prison, surrounded by reinforced walls and secretive factories.
Basement level 5. I took a few turns in the halls and reached the intermediate holding cells. No more smog, but the foul smell of prisons built below this level grew. Rotten food and human waste. Poorly ventilated. Humid and hot. We’ll fix that later.
My first prisoner today.
Gavril Mykola. Half-elf assassin. Designated for execution, by Ostracia’s evaluation.
The two guards by the first interrogation chamber opened the door for me, before shutting it after I stepped in. I walked up to him.
“You know who I am?” I asked, tapping the steel desk.
He paused. “Why yes, your grace. You’re one of my contract targets. The iron maiden, merchant of death, lord of loss, sister of slaughter, and mother of murder herself. My order admires your work.”
“First I’ve heard of that. Chief Benefactor and Luminary of Pulvera, Isolus Enviar. How old are you? Your lot lives long lives, no?”
I walked a few careful laps around the chamber. He smirked.
“Huh? I stopped counting over decades ago. Regardless, the scent of my own death approaches. Time interests me not,” he said, then began whispering. “But what does, is the fact that Pulvera’s leader is a half-elf like myself.”
While passing behind him, I smacked the back of his head with my metal cane. “Bold claim. I’m nothing like you.”
“Hah! Silly me, for once I’m actually right. I could tell from the way you style your wig, hiding your ears, and your dignity. Good disguise; but your teeth gave it away. You’re also a little shorter than most halfies.”
I knew. My adjustable leg prosthetics are kept lengthened as Forlasita, and shortened as Isolus.
But he’s correct about the teeth. Small. Flat without canines. I pulled out my new integrally suppressed revolver.
Click. Safety’s switched off.
“Just get it over with, ‘empress’. I’ve worked daggers since childhood, but you must be sicker than I thought, executing people yourself. Wonderful.”
My anodized duralumin prosthetic arm slammed onto his head.
“I’d rather not poison my soldiers’ minds with skulduggery. Cleaning up the remains weighs the soul less than doing the killing.”
“Damn, my head. Hopefully you drown in your righteous and delusional rhetoric. But I must say, beneath those tinted spectacles are the gorgeous eyes of someone who’s died many deaths before. Was it family? Perhaps a lover that you lost? Children? And the scars you so intricately conceal – a delightful sight.”
That’s it. I aimed the weapon from behind him.
“I share no such sentiments, and take no pride in the loss of life. Any last words? I know those are sacred to your order.”
“Heh. Was hoping my execution’d be more creative th–”
A light bang preceded the momentary sound of grinding brain and bone.
Gore pooled across the table. Blood dripped over the tattoo on his nape – that of the Order of the Obsidian Fang.
I left the room, signaling to the Wardens staying late to clean up. I walked to the next room.
Lorcan Fell. Medical officer. Known to have aided in assisting rebel forces. Confirmed to have a family in Pekina. Father of two.
“Please don’t hurt me any more. Please, I was just following orders.”
He bowed down, waiting for my response.
“I am Isolus, doctor. Forgive my subordinates’ roughness.”
I leaned on the desk in front of him. He was bruised and cuffed.
“The Chief herself? Oh, gods help me. Please, I have a family.”
“Yes. I’d like to negotiate.”
“Oh.” He paused, weighing what few options he had. “Anything, madam?”
“You must write a detailed and TRUTHFUL report on the bio-mechs that Solomon commissioned. Then I’d like to reinstate you as a medic, near Pekina for peacekeeping operations. The fighting between our allies escalated. Royaume’s Spell Brigades bring death wherever Brigantii mercenaries hide. We need their magic, muskets, and men against the Plaguehearts.”
He took a moment to process this, before realizing the opportunity to see his family again, and to help protect them.
“Of course. I can read and write. Solomon taught me.”
“What else did he teach?”
“Unfortunately not much else, madam. He just cared if we could follow and make written instructions. But I worked with Torynn on the bio-skeleton project. He was the brains, I was in charge of.. user compatibility.”
He kept breaking eye contact.
“Very well. Begin your report soon. Welcome back.”
I got up and left. “Take care, and be well!” he replied.
Next. Bransono Alexero’s chamber. The Krux propagandist. Even Ostracia, a fan of his, deemed him too dangerous. I’ll give him a chance.
“For a man with so much to say in writing, you’re awfully quiet.”
He yawned. We’ve been here for half an hour. I skimmed treasonous passages Ostracia highlighted from his latest novel “Of Ruin and Rust” as annotated copies of hit titles like “Ravaging a Redwing” alongside “Wretched Aegis” and “Hounds of Yesterday” rested on the table.
“The people cheered her wondrous might, blind to the shadows she summoned to light? I don’t get it.”
No words, but he smiled a little. Eyes still fixed to the books.
“She built steel beasts, and fed them fire. Dreams consumed by her own desire? What’s that about?”
I sighed, tapping a slow rhythm on the desk.
“I’ve already issued a decree that all your works are to be confiscated and burned. Anyone who willingly hands them over is to be rewarded; those caught withholding contraband are to be punished severely.”
He grinned. My patience thinned like paper over a candle. I began pacing.
“You sanctimonious prick. Pulvera sees more freedom than any other state, yet you sow the seeds of dissent. Now, I love writers with talent. Shame yours manifested in sedition.”
I fought the urge to kick my seat; my prostheses might break. So I threw the plastic monobloc chair instead. It bounced around. Ridiculous.
“Do you know what we’re trying to do here?! Do you even know what you’ve done?”
I slammed my gauntlet down, denting the desk and ringing the room. He flinched.
“Mondo isn’t ready for those ideas. You’ll tear it apart. Possibly more than I already have. And I’m not even a tyrant, at least not the kind you write about.”
A pace and a half around the chamber, I ended up behind Bransono.
At last, he spoke.
“Is that right? This won’t be my last chapter. You believe yourself a hero, yet of what story? Your throne is cast by iron, while saltpeter inscribes its glory.”
That clever line almost gave me pause. Almost. If he thought he’d won something other than a bullet, he’s wrong. But it’s comforting they haven’t realized we don’t use Potassium Nitrate in our smokeless powder, unlike old blackpowder.
“Don’t be silly,” I whispered. “We’ve never used saltpeter for Pulveroza.”
I don’t have the time for this. No trial, no tribunal, no debate.
I readied my revolver, and cracked a shot. Pink mist drenched his novels, marking them with something more final than ink. His last book signing.
Deep breaths. The scent of blood, and burnt flesh.
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
Next.
I sat down in the adjacent room. She was cuffed to her seat.
“Let’s make this quick, Kafra Trezora. Ex-guild receptionist at the Lumoriva Adventurer’s Guild. Veteran of the Trezoro Maid Wars. Have you met Edith?”
“Edith? Edith.. I’ve seen her before. Old lady. Thickest glasses I’ve ever seen. She helped end the inter-syndicate wars with incriminating trezotypes when I was younger. I didn’t know her personally. Sorry.”
“Thanks for answering. I believe we met once or twice before. You were a sniper in the 4th brigade, no?”
“Yep. But I lost my leg after the Medina Incident, and couldn’t keep fighting. Forced to retire early.”
I took out the book, Memoirs of Medina, and flipped to the page where a photo of the aftermath aboard the barge was taken. I also pointed to a photo of me helping treat the wounded.
“You.. Chief Isolus, I remember. Yes, that’s me in the corner. The armored car slipped off its mounting and crushed me.”
I spent a moment trying to read her expressions.
“Miss Kafra, you are charged with the attempted assassination of Admiral Vemvane.”
“That’s..”
“And the deaths of four other officers.”
“...”
“Are you the Alpine Banshee? You know what we do to murderers.”
“...”
“Kafra, you’re going to have to speak up if you w–”
“I was riddled with debt! The insurance policies Pulvera offered couldn’t cover it. Yet I wasn’t allowed to go back to fighting. And that was all I knew. Solomon’s the last connection I had. He paid well for every target.”
“Killing Pulverans isn’t excused. Was I a target?”
“No. Solomon made it VERY clear to avoid you at all costs. He said you were crucial alive.”
I stood, slamming the table with both hands. “Bullshit!”
“I’m not fucking lying, you old hag!”
I walked around behind her. “Then who sent the assassins?”
“To get you? Shit, probably a pissed off aristocrat! I’m not lying about Solomon.”
“His real name. What is it?”
“What kinda question is that? Solomon Pomeroy.”
I pulled out the revolver, clicking the safety off.
“W-wait! Please wait! Fuck. Please, my shoulder pocket. Let me see my son one last time. I beg of you.”
“A son?” I asked, with the muzzle to her head. “My officers’ reports said nothing about you having one.”
“I had him while I was recovering from the injury. I also had a daughter back in Eastern Rokmuro, where I worked as a hunter.. no, a poacher, after the syndicate ceasefire. I lost her when fires devoured the slums of Sonorakvo.”
The ache in her voice, one I knew too well. Click. I switched the safety back on.
“Wait! Please don’t kill me. I’ll do anything. I doubt you’ve lost a child before to–”
“Don’t you fucking dare ask if I’ve lost kids before.”
“..What do you mean?”
“I REALLY wanted to blow your brains out. You know, the stress you put Vemvane through caused her a stillbirth with Pazono’s kid? For the sake of fuck, man.”
“Shit, I didn’t know she was... But, you? You had–”
I whipped her head with the pistol. “I said don’t ask!”
After we both took a breather, I swiped the hidden family photo from her shoulder pocket. Sloppy work, Wardens. What if she had a lockpick instead?
“A toddler. Lovely little boy. His father served? Their names?”
“Hilderic, after his late father Himmel. Solomon never told me where he went, but I know something happened. My son lives in the southern district here, with my uncle. I was saving money for my debt, and for them.”
Our state-issued insurance policies definitely need revision, but I can’t admit that. Not yet at least.
“Money earned like that? I can’t waive your crimes. But I can keep you from hanging. Tomorrow, I’ll arrange to have you moved to the Pulveran corrections facility nearby, where he can see you every now and then.”
“Really? You’d do that? But..”
“Honestly, I’m biased towards folks who try to do what they can for their kids, and I’m biased towards veterans needing help. But that doesn’t take away from the fact that you’ve left a lot of widows here. We have enough orphans already. Terrorism is a crime, and you’ll have to serve your time.”
A sob. “Thank you. I won’t forget this,” she said as I walked out. As if time will ever bring those people back.
Next up was Helot Torynn. Dwarven defector.
Responsible for figuring out how to maintain stolen Pulveran biplanes, those used to take down Pulvera’s Pride. He also worked on modifying commercial trucks into technical battlewagons as well as develop exosuit frames to be used with magically-infused plant-based tendons and muscles. He built the centrifugal machineguns which sprayed lead shot at us from the mountain base at Bayonet Point under Skippio’s lead.
Clever, but not clever enough to cooperate. He didn’t speak Marbordian common, but I had some practice with Ischyrosian from Inkunzi. It didn’t help much since he spoke a slightly different dialect, and kept calling me slurs.
Regrettably, I had to waste him.
Next prisoner. Quentin Stromberg; Lord Stromberg’s naive grandson. This jackass brought legitimacy to the Krux Resistance. But we shared a loose alliance with Brigantii, so his execution is ill-advised. I had him forcefully deported back in exchange for trade concessions, and to help broker peace with Royaume.
“Congratulations. Enjoy your trip, and thank your grandfather.”
Then, Jax Feinnes. A rich young man, and avid smuggler. Responsible for having brought even more ammonium nitrate to Medina just before the incident.
"The Chief? Oh come on, you wouldn't kill me over some white mulch, right?"
"Right. Listen. That fertilizer was meant to help the southern fields grow crops. Without such, people can't live off the land, nor can they feed their stock. The canneries won't have enough to work with, and neither will the smokehouses. And so, you starved people in the winter. Children starved. And if we don't have enough, we can't help alleviate harsh food insecurities elsewhere either.”
I walked up behind him, revolver in hand.
"And that's murder. You know what we normally do to murderers. I haven't even gotten to the countless you’ve helped kill at Medina. So, what’s your defense?"
“You can’t touch me!” he said, spitting across the table.
“I don’t need to,” I replied, shooting him across the table.
This is exhausting. Next is Taefanna Trask, Jax’s lover. Swear I’ve met her before.
“Release these chains at once! This is no way to treat a noblewoman!” she shrieked.
I tossed the newspapers – her name splashed across its headlines.
“Tiffany, or however you pronounce it,” I said coldly, “you’re guilty of embezzling funds for slavery and human trafficking, plus tax evasion. No shortage of evidence. You’re stripped of all ownership and, frankly, you deserve to die. Like Jax did.”
“Wait what? The pig is dead? Anyway, who are you supposed to be? Name your price!” she demanded.
“Forgive my bluntness. I’m Isolus. And while your death’s too cheap a price, I’m feeling a little tired, and generous today.”
Without waiting for her shuddering to pass and her protest to start, I shot her. Up front. Her head destined for the town square as a grim warning to other ‘problematic’ nobles.
Last, but far from the least, Solomon de Solleret.
Previously Pulvera’s greatest general, and now the face of the Krux Resistance.
I stepped into the last interrogation room, at the end of the hall.
“Nice to see you again, Commander Pomeroy.”
“Save your sarcasm. What is it, chief?” he replied, with wrists cuffed.
“Answers. Where’s Eschaton? You let him go?”
“Plaguehearts took what was left of him. Your wardens already put everything I worked for in a bind, but that won’t stop the others. I was your best bet at ending this fake war.”
“Yeah,” I said, stepping closer and revealing my gun. “You were. And yeah it was a fake war, until you tried to kill me for real.”
“You shouldn’t have been on that airship. And a fake war, huh? Sickening, isn’t it?”
“Solomon, you chose when to stab us in the back. Now that my allies are on each others’ throats, it’s all necessary.”
“Necessary?! You prosecute ‘perceived domestic threats’ by the thousands. Where do you think our supporters really come from?”
I waved the gun. “I’m working towards peace! And you helped me build that.”
“Oh? And what’s that cost you?” he retorted. “Hell, do you even know what peace means? We’ve built nothing but devastation.”
“..why?” I choked. “Why’d you turn on us? We were so close to ending it.”
“Close?” He laughed, bitter. “Ask that to the fathers your failed schemes have gotten killed. Kiralto, Himmel, Bedonio. Countless. And that aid you promised? You barely drip-fed a tenth of it.”
“Yeah? At least I don’t enlist child soldiers!”
“What?! That was BEFORE I took control.”
I threw the book at him. He ducked. It burst on impact, scattering its pages.
“There! You like that!? I had those memoirs printed and bound for you! I’d done so much for you, and yet.. you hid everything from me!”
I was sweating. Crying even. I wiped it all away with my left sleeve. A pause.
“No wonder. It’s you,” he said quietly. “I should’ve known. You watched my men die for your stupid plan, Officer Forlasita. And you hid it so well. Skip was right. You were lying all this time.”
I glared at my shiny, reflective revolver; my scars stared back. Make-up smeared across my black sleeve.
“So Eschaton didn’t tell you anything? About what he did, to me?”
“Wait. You met him? He never woke up after Arzo caved that mountain in. And without a jaw or eyes, what the hell could he have told us?”
“It doesn’t matter. Not anymore.”
Click. Safety’s off. I leveled the gun at him.
His voice turned sharp. “When did it come to this? When did you start living two lives?”
“Two? I think I’ve lived three, by now. I’ve always.. always been like this. Ever since I lost my home. My real home. I’m much older than you think.”
“So what?” His voice softened. “I believed in you. And honestly? I still kind of do, you crazy bitch. You got Pulvera this far, cowardly as you are. Was it all just a lie to protect yourself?”
I clasped the gun with my left arm, and took my round shades off. Then my officer’s cap. Then my wig.
“That’s right,” I swallowed. “I lied.”
I raised the gun once again.
“And I can’t let you take what little peace I have left. Don’t make this any harder for me than it has to be, Solomon.”
He shook his head, facing down. “What of this is peace to you? I don’t care what you are. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have let you wreck your liver at Shoreside. At least not alone.”
“You stop talking. Before I send you to hell.”
“But I’m already there! Here, with you. I should’ve done more, should’ve realized you were carrying all this alone. Did you decline my offer to dance due to your prostheses? I would’ve carried you, if that’s what it took! I knew Forlasita had them, but not you.”
“LISTEN. I AM Forlasita! I made Isolus up because I HAD TO. So shut it!”
He softened.
“You.. must’ve read it. I was going to tell you about Skippio’s journal someday. No wonder your name was familiar. He was obsessed with you.”
My shaking grip on the gun tightened.
“SHIT! I’m not really even Forlasita! I was a wife, a mother, someone else entirely! And I told you to shut..”
“Sinner or saint, I know you’re better than all these-”
“..UP! SHUT THE FUCK UP!”
My numb trigger finger squeezed in.
Bang.
Right in the chest.
He collapsed off his chair, immediately into a puddle of his own blood.
A sharp pain tore me asunder, deep under.
I dropped the gun.
“What the hell have I done?”
I stumbled around the table and held him as his nose poured. Tears in his eyes, and in mine. He gurgled, as if to speak. I unbuttoned his uniform to check.
The bullet pierced his bloodstained weatherproof pocket journal – the one I made for him, and through his heart.
He clutched my sleeves, a momentary grip.
I whispered, consumed by guilt. “No, gods no. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking.. sorry.”
Too many people have died in my arms, or by my hands. Again and again.
What have I.. Is this how it’s always going to be?
Unacceptable. This won’t do. I refuse to outlive everyone who’s cared about me.
This burden has grown too heavy to bear. So was his body, and all the cold seeping blood.
No more.
The revolver lied on the table. In a moment of numb despair, I shoved its muzzle into my mouth. Teeth clenched.
Click.
My body flinched as I realized.. I already fired all six chambers today.
After clamping the gun with my teeth, I unloaded the spent cases. Then I tried reloading with my free hand but I trembled too much to get any rounds in.
I hurled the damn revolver away, rounds scattered about. What about a grenade? That’ll do me in. I pulled one out, and yanked the safety pin off with a forceful bite. Now to just let go of the safety spoon, and this life.
My fingers disobeyed, having to be pried one after another with my prosthetic hand as if to count down. Suddenly, another grabbed it.
Solomon clasped the grenade, firmly holding the spoon down as he nodded.
“Why?” I asked. “Why are you so..”
I found myself trying to thread the pin back and lock it in safely.
Yet the grenade slipped between his bloody grip, and my trembling fingers couldn’t get the pin through.
Clink. My heart skipped as the spoon sprang off, priming the grenade to explode.
We met gazes for a split second, but he spared no time. Using the last of his consciousness, he pushed me aside to roll over it.
I tumbled back as his body shattered with a deafening blast.
I shielded my face from the bone fragments.
His wrists, still cuffed, were on opposite ends of the room. Blood and offal everywhere. Solomon, everywhere.
Unfortunately, I lived.
Unscathed. But the ringing kept going.
Please, no more.
I’m done.
I can’t think about those who..
I can’t think at all.
Breathing in, and out. I cradled his pierced journal, then fixed my disguise. Then I limped through the halls to the elevator, smearing a trail of blood. His blood. None of the late-shift Wardens spoke to me, or at least I couldn’t hear them, or care to.
Ping. The elevator reached Floor 2. I unlocked my room. Aspera was sound asleep on the couch. Rumi was here too, and spilled her tea. I could hear her a bit.
“Chief? You uh, look like hammered shit. And Kylin sent mail. For you.”
“I don’t.. don’t worry about it. Leave it there. I’ll check... later.”
I collapsed on the nice, cold, hard floor.
I hope I don’t wake up.
But I always do. And I don’t know why.
...
What day is it? Where am I? The two questions I remember asking, but never really sure of the answer.
At least I know who I am. I’m whoever I need to be today. Today? What day is it?
The engine rumbled to a halt. 451’s engine. Why is Rumi still here?
“Alright, chief you’ll have to watch the tank. Aspera already ran off to the ruins. You’re probably tired of me asking but, are you alright? We’re here for you.”
“Yeah,” I replied without a first thought, fumbling with an old blackpowder revolver. Right, this was in the box Kylin sent, along with a letter. It was the revolver I gave her on her trip back, before the Serpent State was a thing.
I kept scratching its paint off with my thumb. It was in perfect condition.
Her lengthy letter said something along the lines of how she’s glad she never had to protect herself with it. Crazy that I never bothered to count how many I’ve had to kill with mine. She followed it up with an admission that she might’ve contracted a lethal disease spreading across the Jade breakaway states, but mostly her Serpent State.
I wondered which of us will make it to hell first.
But perhaps, I’m already there.
Rumi hopped in the driver’s hatch up front. The hatch above me opened up; Aspera dropped in with a bag of odd plants.
“Hey! Check these plants we found, they’re not in the botany books but they were left overgrown in a ritual room Mina cracked open! This one’s like a plumpy red grass with potato-like roots, and then this one vine smells like cigarettes!”
“A cigarette would be nice,” I said.
“..like, hello? She’s right. You’ve been pretty off this past week. Ever since I caught her washing all that blood off of you, and your clothes. I’m glad you let me tag along but you gotta tell me what’s wrong, dude.”
I gave her the usual look. The world can fall apart for all I care.
Leaves rustled as birds flocked from their trees. It sounded a bit muffled from within the tank.
My gunner seat began rumbling. The tank rattled. They both looked at me.
“Uh, the engine isn’t on yet,” Rumi said.
Aspera pinched her nose. “If this is another nasty fart of yours then..”
Everything shook. Aspera and I jostled around in the tank, barely able to cling onto anything for stability. Rumi held on fine in the driver’s seat.
Then it stopped. I was on the floor of the tank, clutching Aspera. A bit of blood dripped down her forehead, for not having worn a helmet.
She mumbled. “Everything hurts. I want to go home, now.”
Rumi peeked out her hatch, then moved back to help us up. She turned the engine on, and then the radio. The other commanders in the convoy were screaming, talking over each other. It died down, then Colonel Shit-cup radioed in.
“449’s fine, ACT 872 and 806 are here but we’ll catch up to the rest of you after we take another path. Some paths are cleaved open, or blocked by trees and rubble. Some are just gone.”
More static. I couldn’t make sense of the chatter.
“No, we don’t know why either. We need to regroup. Where’s 451 and 825?”
Rumi operated a few switches on the radio, connecting her own throat microphone to the line.
“Rumina Aubine reporting, my two crewmates on the 451 are breathing but combat ineffective. A landslide covered up the southern cliffside pass. Wasn’t 825 with you? How’s the magic research team?”
“No, they never arrived. How’s the Major? Listen, the mages’ll report in a bird’s eye view to try and locate ACT 825. Don’t take the western cave route, we don’t know if it’s caved in. Find a way to meet us by the riverbank, I’ll try to get Grand Admiral Raul.”
Rumi was busy treating Aspera’s head wound before turning to me. “Copy that. I’m tending to Major Forlasita now. See you guys soon.”
Someone else chimed in. “Spell Sergeant Bohdan here. It’s not just landslides. Our crows are seeing heavy movement east of us, kicking up dirt. Still verifying.”
A glare, full of care. Wake up. That’s what Rumi’s eyes said in silence as she bandaged Aspera up. Then she scooted over to wrap her arms around me.
“Ma’am, we need you now more than ever,” she said before holding me tight.
Warmth. Warmth I didn’t deserve.
“I’ll.. get you two home,” I found myself saying. “I promise.”
Home. That’ll do. It’s time to head home.
What did you find more amusing?
